Doctor Who Forgotten Suns Chapter One
In the Command Hub of the Oortelian Hegemony’s war mantis, ‘Indigo Flame’, the massive forward view simulator was displaying a computer-adjusted visual of the distant Razorclaw Nebula; its glorious hues stunning to behold. This illusory view was not operationally necessary, but the Clade Commander had always believed that his crew drew comfort and inspiration from this… imaginary window onto the outside universe. (If, that is, they ever took the time to look up from their own stations.) Specialist Third Palasar was studying the displays and read-out screens of the monitor banks before her intently, not because they were reporting anything new or unexpected; but simply to avoid drawing attention. She shifted uncomfortably at her duty station, but tried to keep her movements to a minimum. Her vestigial spinal quills were rubbing uncomfortably against the back-rest, as they always did when she felt tense. At the moment, Palasar felt very tense indeed, but could not afford to lean forward over her console as she wished. Clade Commander Silandor seemed to have a preternatural awareness of everything that happened in his Command Hub! He would, doubtless, notice her action and demand a report; assuming that she had seen something noteworthy. Normally, as with most of the personnel assigned to hub duties, Palasar found comfort and re-assurance in the knowledge that the Commander and his senior officers were there. Both to act on her reports, and to take responsibility for those actions. Indeed, the very design of the hub reflected the hierarchical preferences of the Oortelian Hegemony; with Tec-Ops and Mission Specialists manning posts in the operations trench surrounding the higher Command Deck. This was a sensible arrangement, Palasar felt, allowing all stations to be simultaneously monitored by more experienced personnel, if they wished. She was comfortable in the knowledge that she could relinquish responsibility so easily, should the need arise; and she found the repetitive mechanical background sounds, the calmly competent murmur of inter-ship communications… Pleasantly soothing. But most of all Palasar liked the tangible presence and authority of the Clade Commander himself. Although she rarely saw him from her post in the trench, Silandor’s calm and confident voice had come to represent the pulse of the ship to Palasar, and she could read that pulse well. Right now he sounded quietly, and calmly, furious. “I will not tell you again, Valmik. You and your counterparts have no place on the command deck, and my Hub is not the place for this discussion. You will remove yourselves, with haste, and return to the science decks assigned to you. Your concerns are duly noted, yet again, and will be addressed presently. Dismissed!” Silandor did not raise his voice once whilst giving these commands, but deliberately used his impressive bulk to intimidate the three Enclave representatives; stalking towards them in a predatory fashion. He usually found this to be a most effective tactic. Like all of his species, the Oortelian Clade Commander appeared to be of reptilian descent; but whatever their origins, the Oortelians had long since evolved to the bipedal plateau so common to sentient beings across the universe. Silandor’s finely scaled epidermis, where visible outside of his uniform, was a deep blue-black at the moment; evidence of his tightly controlled anger. In startling contrast, his eyes were bright lime-green orbs blending into yellow sunbursts, with cross-shaped pupils. He fixed those orbs on one of Valmik’s companions, who looked about to protest, then lowered his head towards the shorter man, sharp teeth glinting. “I… said… dismissed….” The Commander hissed. Very. Very. Quietly. This finally seemed to get the message across. The three civilians; their colourful facial markings expanding and coalescing in varying degrees of anger, embarrassment - even alarm! - retreated. Silandor continued watching them through narrowed eyes, as they made their way across the rear of the command deck to the exit portal. Then, as he’d expected, Valmik turned back to face him. “Apologies if we caused any disturbance Clade Commander Silandor, but you must understand…” “What I must, Archivist First Valmik,’ Silandor interrupted, ‘is my concern and no-one else’s. But…’ he offered in a more conciliatory fashion, ‘I do actually understand why you are constantly intruding into my domain: being this close to a possible ‘Ship of the Ancients’… However, Indigo Flame is my ship, no-one else’s, and when I say that you must trust me, believe me… you must.” Valmik studied Silandor closely for a moment more, then slowly blinked his nictitating membranes in acknowledgment. “Naturally, Commander. You will try to keep us informed, I trust?” Silandor locked eyes with the man. “I have said this. It shall be so.” He confirmed formally - just before the portal irised closed, blocking Valmik from view - and from the hub. Unfortunately, the Commander believed that he did understand, at least to some extent. These men and women, all these differing enclaves and cadres of scientists, researchers, and theoreticians: they and their ilk had spent decades to arrive at this point. Indeed, this moment promised the culmination of generations of hopes and dreams to them; if one was of a mind to take that point of view. However, that did not excuse breach of protocols or circumvention of procedures; and his command hub was no place for civilians - or their sometimes disturbing speculations and theories. Bands and whorls of muted colours coruscated across his features as he slowly calmed himself, and by the time he turned to survey his crew he was a more seemly - more natural - colour. A rich, deep blue; reminiscent of the oceans of Oortelia at his favorite time of year, in fact. As he had anticipated, the senior crew were efficiently carrying out their duties, having studiously ignored the intruder’s attempted interruption once again. Only Sub-Commander Talamane was not at a duty station, but it was her habit as Second Spear to roam around all levels of the hub ‘tasting the air’, so this was nothing unusual. No, he was more concerned about the lower ranks in the operations trench. The junior members of his crew were more prone to such distractions; they seemed to soak up his moods by some arcane form of osmosis, however hard he tried to school his emotions, or curb his irritations. It was a humbling responsibility. “Do you want me to prepare a report for presentation to our honoured passengers, Sir?” Talamane murmured, as she came to stand beside him. “No,’ he responded brusquely, more concerned by the level of tension that seemed to be permeating the junior personnel, ‘it would only be the same as the last report, and the report before that. They don’t seem to understand reports. Walk with me.” Avoiding his Command Podium and its ostentatious throne by habit, the Commander led Talamane to her nominal duty station at the edge of the command deck; over-looking the section of consoles currently being supervised by Specialist Third Palasar. They both studied the information displayed. The young female was handling her duties efficiently enough, but Silandor noticed a slight stiffness to her shoulders - perhaps a little exercise in morale-boosting was called for. Not just for this child, but her crewmates also. After a brief moments consideration, he commanded, not unkindly, “Specialist Palasar, station status report, if you please.” The crewman stiffened still further when she heard his voice, but controlled her responses swiftly. (Earning an unseen blink of approval from the Sub-Commander.) Palasar calmly swiveled her seat around, then stood to attention. “Clade Commander Silandor,’ she barked, staring him directly in the kneecaps, ‘it is my privilege to report that all my systems are operating at peak efficiency! All monitor feeds show that projected timeframes are being met, and that there is no reason to believe that breakthrough cannot be achieved on schedule, Sir!” Suppressing an urge to laugh, the Commander sank to his haunches to imply camaraderie, instructing the petrified youth to be at ease. “Relax for a moment, Specialist! Why don’t you… using plain language, please… why don’t you just tell me what we are doing here?” “Don’t you know, Sir?” Palasar asked in alarm, caught by surprise. She risked a startled glance at his face for the first time, then wilted visibly as she realized what she had just said. This time Silandor did laugh. Long and hard - and it felt good! Palasar was mortified! Although she tried not to betray any of her panic in her stoic stance, inside all she wanted to do was curl up into a fetal ball, and crawl back into the egg from which she’d hatched. What a stupid thing to say! At the same time, some deep part of her felt buoyed and lifted by the Commanders good humour, even if it was at her own foolishness. Glancing sternwards along the trench, she noticed that those junior crewmembers, within the range of her vision, also seemed to be relaxing slightly. Some even smiled in her direction, politely not revealing their teeth. Tec-Op Ursulon even winked at her - as if sharing a joke. Although she didn’t understand why, Palasar felt her panic recede slightly, and her tension eased by increments. She stood with new found confidence, determined to accept her dismissal from duty with dignity and grace; and so was totally unprepared for Commander Silandor’s next move. He actually leaned forward and placed a hand on her shoulder! She tensed involuntarily, expecting to feel the bite of claws, but he merely gave her a firm, comradely grip of reassurance and said, “Thank you, Specialist Palasar - I needed that!” And then, against all precedent, the Clade Commander of the Oortelian Hegemony’s war mantis Indigo Flame, himself… sat down at the edge of his command deck and began a quiet conversation with her. The Clade Commander’s instructions had been simplicity itself to implement, once Palasar began collating her data. She had initially felt some trepidation at being told to prepare this briefing; not because she doubted her own abilities, but because she had so little experience with non-military enclaves. She liked the ordered structure of her own enclave; a place for every Oortelian and every Oortelian in her place. The science enclaves, however - particularly those of the softer sciences - were not composed of individuals hatched for their own particular specialty. Instead… and this is what usually made Palasar so nervous in their company - these people had chosen to join their particular calling. Commander Silandor had likened them to children at play, always changing their minds about what they wanted. “But never make the mistake of underestimating them.’ He had cautioned, ‘they may seem as fractious and undisciplined as hatchlings, but in many ways that is why they are so important to the Hegemony. Never forget that these are very, very clever people.” Now, having sacrificed half her duty shift and a sleep-cycle to this task, Palasar stood watching Technical Operative Imanol as he fussed over his equipment. Tec-Ops were never satisfied, she mused. Actually, it had been a pleasure working with someone as knowledgeable and enthusiastic about his own specialty as she herself. Imanol had taken great delight in explaining everything, as he converted her data into visual representations. The Visi-Sphere was a further development of the technology that provided the screen dominating the Command Hub, now with the ability to present a three-dimensional virtuality within its globe. Of course, it didn’t hurt that Imanol was rather an attractive young male, not that much older than she was. Turning on the spot, Palasar examined the room she had been given for this presentation, idly wondering as to its original function. Following a similar design aesthetic to the Hub itself, it had a circular central platform ringed by rising tiers of seating. Perhaps it was actually intended as a place of entertainment, although she could not imagine what kind, preferring a less ostentatious location for her own amusements. This place lacked the bonhomie and cordiality of shared crew areas. But there was no denying that everyone would have a good view of the Visi-Sphere, and Imanol had assured her that he had checked the rooms acoustics when installing his pet - he had deemed them ‘adequate’. Checking her chrono, Palasar noted that the appointed time was rapidly approaching. Moments later, precisely on schedule, one of the four entry portals irised open and the Clade Commander himself strode up to join her on the platform. He exchanged a confident glance with Palasar then, almost negligently, gave Tec-Op Imanol the hand-gesture for ‘at ease’ - the boy had sprung to rigid attention as soon as he had realized that Silandor was present. The Commander then also stood at ease, looking for all the worlds as if he was settling in for a long wait. Palasar had been slightly concerned that some of the enclaves might turn up before he did, so his presence bolstered her confidence - but she couldn’t help but be puzzled - it was now almost 0.5 decads after the presentation had been due to start! Commander Silandor noticed her confusion - the coloured mottling of her face must have betrayed her; and to her chagrin he appeared on the verge of laughter once more. Fortunately, to her great relief, he merely leaned in her direction and murmured, “Relax Specialist, they will be here - in their own good time!” A full five decads later the room was full. Palasar had spent that time in a state of almost horrified fascination as, with no discernable cohesion or sense of urgency, representatives of the various enclaves aboard the Indigo Flame had strolled in. They arrived in dribs and drabs: little knots of people that displayed no particular adherence to rank or affiliation. Rather: as they meandered casually through the various entrance portals, most deeply engrossed in conversation, they appeared to seat themselves purely on the basis of personal friendships. She saw Archeologists comfortably sharing space with Theologians: Historians engaged in animated debate with Philosophers, and quite a few enclaves or cadres that she didn’t immediately recognize from their clothing. The only group that appeared to be making a deliberate effort to sit together was the Archivists, which Palasar found unsurprising. Clade Commander Silandor had made a particular point of mentioning that the Archivists believed themselves to be the repository of all the collected knowledge of the Oortelian Hegemony; and therefore superior to all others. So it was perhaps inevitable that Archivist First Valmik was the last to arrive - and he made a great show of seating himself at the very front of his enclave. Taking this as his que to start the proceedings, Commander Silandor stepped forward and began to speak. Palasar was pleased to note that his rich, powerful, command tone had the exact same effect on these disorganized intellectuals, as it had on his own crew. All conversation ceased and suddenly there was no-one else in the room of any importance. (One day she would learn how to do that, she promised herself.) “Honoured Guests,’ The Clade Commander began, emphasizing their status as passengers, ‘I truly appreciate your condescending to attend this briefing - which you have insisted upon so vociferously, for so long. In fact, I feel humbled that you have taken the trouble to attend at all. You have my thanks. Really.’ Silandor allowed his gaze to sweep the room, meeting his audience eye to eye. Few of them were able to challenge that look. ‘I have invited you here for one reason only. You are to be instructed on the progress that we have made with the derelict, that which many of you believe to be a craft of The Ancients. I do not wish to dispute your beliefs, indeed, I hope to share them!’ Silandor paused, ‘But… it falls to me as Commander of this mission to maintain a distance from hope - I must protect my crew - I must protect all of you. This is why our progress may seem slow to you, and I do honestly understand your frustration. Hopefully, Specialist Third Palasar will be able to explain our procedures - and our caution - more clearly.” Beckoning her forward, the Commander took a seat over by Imanol. Although grateful for his presence, Palasar wished that he had not chosen to begin the proceedings in such an adversarial fashion. Many members of her audience looked distinctly offended, and she couldn’t really blame them. Suppressing a sigh, she began her presentation. Category:Forgotten Sun Category:Forgotten Suns